Medieval Master Warlords (6 page)

“Name the price, my lord,” she said. “What will you have me do?”

He crossed his massive arms, cocking his head as he did so. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She didn’t know why she was startled but she was.  She was frightened on top of it.  The price could have been much higher and she knew it, but somehow she had not expected a simple yet intimate command.  She had been fooling herself into thinking it would be something far less personal.  But perhaps she was making more out of it than it was; a kiss could be a completely innocent and respectful thing.  She would proceed on that premise.

“Very well,” she agreed, moving to stand before him and reaching for his hand. 

He saw what she was doing and had no intention of those rosy lips touching his dirty hands.  Reaching out, he grasped her around the head and his mouth descended on hers, his warm lips firm and smooth and powerful.  Kellington yelped with surprise but knew there was no escape; he enormous hands completely encircled her skull and the lips upon her had instantly sucked all of the thoughts from her head.  Before she knew it, his hands moved from her head to her body and those massive arms were wrapping themselves around her slender torso. 

Kellington was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. His mouth sucked her top lip, her bottom lip, before his tongue plunged demandingly into her honeyed mouth.  He was ravaging her to the point where she could not breathe, his lips and tongue doing obscene things to her mouth that she should not have allowed. But along with that indignant reaction came another reaction of such intensity that it paralyzed her.  Her heard was fluttering and her head swimming.  She could taste the man overwhelmingly; the faint taste of ale and musk that was not unpleasant.  She was just coming to analyze it, to experience it, when he suddenly let her go.

Kellington would have tripped had he not reached out to steady her.  But he grabbed her bad shoulder and she winced.

“You have no right to do that,” she hissed, her cheeks warm.

“I have every right. You are my captive and I may do as I please with you.”

Infuriated, embarrassed that she had responded to him, she put a few steps of distance between them.  “I’ll not be your whore,” she spat. “I’ll kill myself before I allow you to take such liberties with me.”

He frowned. “Who said you were to be my whore?”

“Do not do that again.”

“You clearly do not understand the concept of submission,” he said huskily. “Now, go. I want you to go back to your chamber and stay there. I do not want to see your face again before morning. Is that clear?”

She was having trouble thinking. “But… but Sir Trevan…?”

“I will keep my end of the bargain.”

“But….”

“Go now. That is not a request.”

Dazed, she did as she was told and stumbled from the cell.  Mounting the stairs was difficult, made more difficult by Jax’s massive body directly behind her. She could feel his heat.

They emerged into the cool night, into a field of dead men impaled on posts. Although Kellington knew the situation in the bailey, it did not make it any easier to face.  She kept her head lowered, heading in the general direction of the keep, praying she would not become ill now that the stench of the dead was overwhelming.  Even in the dark, it was a thick blanket of putridness that covered everything.

She heard a loud snapping off to her left and she instinctively looked to see where the sound was coming from.  She looked just in time to see Jax ripping Trevan down from his pole, snapping the wood in the process. He tossed the knight’s body to the dirt as if it hardly weighed anything; considering Trevan had been a fairly large man, it was a testament to Jax’s brute strength. 

Tears suddenly sprang to Kellington’s eyes as she watched Jax pull out the remainder of the pole from Trevan’s body and toss it aside. Seeing Trevan on the ground reminded Kellington of another matter which she had not yet discussed with Jax.  Tears in her eyes, hand over her mouth, she made her way towards Jax through the macabre forest of bodies.

“My lord?” she called timidly.

His head snapped up, his dual-colored eyes focusing on her. “I told you to go inside.”

“You did,” she nodded, struggling not to cry as she formed her thoughts. Trevan lay at her feet and she allowed herself to gaze down at the man; he didn’t look so horrible now lying on the dirt.  He looked as if he was sleeping.  Swallowing, she summoned her courage. “Sir Trevan and his wife had a baby. A son. Would… would you please tell me what has become of the baby?”

Jax looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. “Do you really wish to know?”

“Is it true you killed all of the weak and small when you took control of Pelinom?”

“Aye.”

“Even the baby?”

He drew in a long, heavy breath; she could hear him.  “Kelli, what do you want me to tell you? Do you want the truth? You would not like it if I told you.”

The fact that he had called her by her nickname did not occur to her.  She was more focused on the gist of his words and they made her sick.  Sick of stomach, sick of heart.  The tears found their way onto her cheeks and she furiously wiped them away.

“There were many children at Pelinom,” she said, her voice trembling. “Do you mean to tell me that they are all dead?”

“If they did not run away, then they were put to death.”

He said it without emotion.  Kellington couldn’t help it; she began to sob softly.

“How could you do that?” she wept softly. “They were just children.  They were no threat to you.”

As he watched her weep, that odd tugging in his chest resumed with a vengeance.  It only seemed to happen when she was around and he could define a myriad of sensations associated it; anger, remorse, disgust, sorrow.  He wasn’t very good at discerning emotion and it unbalanced him. More than anything, he did not like to see her weep.  Knowing he was the cause of it only seemed to infuriate him.

“Go inside,” he rumbled, turning away from her.

She didn’t obey him right away.  She stood there and sobbed, wiping her face, her gaze moving to the dead man at her feet.  Painfully, she crouched beside him and a small, white hand moved to touch his dirty brown hair.  He had been a good man, rather quiet, with a quick sense of humor.  He had made her laugh many a time and she would miss his sly wit.  Lingering on memories of the kind man, she lowered her head and prayed.

Jax glanced over his shoulder as she murmured final prayers over the corpse of the knight.   It took only a few seconds, long enough for him to feel a twinge of regret for what he had done.  It was the first time he’d ever felt such a thing and the fury that shot through his body cause his control to snap.  He yanked the bottom half of the pole from the ground and it suddenly went sailing, crashing into the stone wall several feet away and splintering in a shower of wood.

With a gasp, Kellington looked up from her prayers, seeing Jax standing with his back to her, his hands clenching and unclenching.   His entire body was dangerously coiled.

“I’ll not tell you again,” he rumbled. “Go inside.”

Kellington suspected she had better obey.  The man had already shown her a generous amount of patience and given his reputation that was not a usual occurrence.  Rising to stand, she was focused on the back of his long dark hair.   Before she retreated, there was one last thing on her mind.

“Sir Ajax,” she said with more strength than she felt. “May I ask one more thing of you?”

He turned slightly but did not look at her.  His strong profile was illuminated in the haunting moonlight, his jaw flexing hazardously.

“You have already asked quite enough.”

“One more thing and I swear I shall ask no more.”

“What is it?”

“The baby,” her voice broke as much as she tried to control herself. “Could you please bury him with his father?”

Jax stood there, jaw clenching and fists working.  Kellington knew she should run for her life but could not manage the feat.  She sensed that, for all of his fury, that he was experiencing a moment of extreme confusion.  If he was not, he would have surely unleashed himself on her by now.  She was smart enough to know when to capitalize on his moment of weakness; she had to make him understand.

Kellington stepped over Trevan and made her way, hesitantly, to where Jax was standing.   The man was working fists that were the size of her head.  Her gaze trailed down his enormous back, with impossibly wide shoulders and slender waist, moving to his equally massive arms and skull-sized fists.   Taking a very big gamble, she reached out a small hand and laid it gently on one of his colossal fists.   His flesh was cold against her; cold and hard.  Her hand was soft and warm.  She took a good grip of his hand and squeezed.

“Please, Sir Ajax,” she was standing very close to him, hoping her would feel the sincerity of her plea. “His name was Maxim. Bury him with his father.  Show us this one small mercy and I swear I’ll never ask another merciful favor from you.”

He continued to stand like stone.  Kellington gave one last squeeze and turned for the keep, feeling her exhaustion and weakness to her very bones. 

CHAPTER SIX

They began coming at dawn, a fairly large army on the horizon that had the sentries on the walls shouting the news.  The early morning was filled with birds and men calling, the pink sky overhead promising a lovely May morning.  It seemed like any other normal day at Pelinom except that it was anything but normal.  The morning marked their twelfth day of hell.

Kellington was up, gazing sleepily out of the lancet window into the bailey below.  The great gates, having since been repaired from the siege, were cranking open and there were many soldiers in the ward.  The grisly army of scarecrows was still there although Kellington tried not to notice; as the days passed and the stench faded, it was easier to resign herself to Jax’s handiwork. She wondered at the identity of the incoming army but did not pay an over amount of attention to it; there was nothing she could do about it.  With a yawn, she turned away from the window.

Jax had not spoken to her in more than a week.  She had seen him every day as she settled in and resumed her usual duties, but he’d barely said a word to her in all that time.  A few times, she had caught him staring at her, but he had quickly averted his gaze and moved on to something else.  Trevan’s body was gone from the bailey and that was all she cared about at the moment; she hadn’t yet asked about the baby.

As the sun rose, she bathed in warmed rosewater that Matilda had brought her and quickly dressed against the chill of the room.  Clad in soft a soft linen shift, she layered on a complete bliaut gown made from dark blue linen with a snug bodice, full skirt and long, flaring sleeves.  The wound on her shoulder was almost healed and gave no more pain as the fabric brushed against it. A belt of pewter link hung around her slender waist with decorative weights that caused it to hang properly.   The neckline was scooped, making a nice presentation of her full breasts and slender shoulders.  

Matilda helped her roll on her fine wool hose and secure them with ribbons. The little servant slipped soft leather slippers on her mistress’ feet and went to work on the long blond hair.  It was straight and thick with no hint of curl, like a sheet of crystalline gold that fell to her buttocks. Matilda took her lady’s hair and plaited into a thick braid, draping it over one shoulder.  She took a smaller section of hair and wrapped it around the base of the braid, against her head, creating a lovely artwork of hair. 

It felt like a normal day for a little while.  There were moments when Kellington could forget about the horrors of the past two weeks. But once she was finished dressing, there were matters awaiting her attention the solar and her stomach quivered when she once again remembered the state they were in and the enemy knights infiltrating the walls of her beloved keep.  She might even see Jax and she was not quite sure how she felt about that. An uneasy peace had settled since the day she insisted he bury Trevan and since they’d hardly spoken, she wasn’t sure of his mood.  

The second floor with the great hall and solar were relatively quiet.  A few servants milled about and dogs were wrestling in the great hall.  Kellington moved across the entry and into the solar, heading for her father’s desk.  Being May, there was the matter of a late spring harvest coming up for apricots and cherries and she wanted to make sure they were prepared to take the produce to market once picked.   With all of their soldiers killed and most male servants either murdered or run off, the burden of harvest would fall on the women. 

On the shelf next to the heart lay the tally books for Pelinom.  They were carefully rolled sheets of parchment, secured with a strip of dried gut.  Every year had a different roll and rolls from previous years were stamped with her father’s seal and carefully stored on the upper shelves. Kellington went for the roll that had the tallies from this year’s harvests so far.  On the lowest shelf at knee-level was a wooden box that held a quill, ink, a wax stick and her father’s signet.  She carefully collected the box, the roll of parchment, and put them both down on the desk.

Collecting the tall stool that she would perch herself on for hours while she completed her tallies, Kellington settled herself on the seat and laid out her parchment. Her very careful writing filled about a quarter of the sheet, tallies from January through April.  Most of the tally was for honey, the result of a particularly fruitful fall and very busy bees. But there was also a tally for the upcoming apricot and cherry harvest and an estimate of what she projected to glean. As Kellington tried to determine just how to harvest so much produce with very little labor force, Jax suddenly entered the solar.

She’d never heard him enter the keep; all had seemed still and quiet in the entry hall beyond.  She hadn’t even heard a door open.  But suddenly he was standing in the doorway and she was startled by his abrupt appearance. 

“My lord?” she said before he could speak. “Do you require something?”

He just stood there a moment, appraising her with his dual-colored eyes.  As time passed, the unnerving effect of his unusual eyes had less and less of an impact on her.  Now she was coming to find them strangely intriguing.

“Some visitors have arrived,” he said in his rumbling baritone. “We will require the hall as a meeting place and refreshment.”

“Of course.”

She set down her quill and plopped off the stool.   Just as she passed Jax on her way from the solar, she suddenly came to a halt.

“When your meeting is over, I would request some time to meet with you as well,” she said, craning her neck back to look up at him; he was so tall she had to practically lay her head back. “We are coming upon two critical harvests and it would seem that I do not have enough servants to complete the task.”

“Why not?”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Because you killed most of our labor force when you took the castle.  Now I have only a few female servants to accomplish a task that usually takes several dozen men.”

He did not react to what he could have interpreted as a rebuke. “There is a village to the south.”

“Aye; Hadden is six miles to the south. What about it?”

“I will recruit your labor force from there.”

She eyed him warily. “Perhaps you should let me do it.  You will only terrify people if you go there demanding workers.”

“And?”

“And, they will run from you.  I need them to run to Pelinom, not run away from it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  Kellington could see that he was struggling not to smile.

“It is not funny,” she said frankly.

He let his smile break through, reluctantly. “Nay, it is not, but it is the way you say it.  Do you want my help or not?”

“I do not.”

“Then what did you need to meet with me about?”

“To ask your thoughts on the matter. Now that I have them, I would ask permission to travel to the village of Hadden and hire some workers.”

His smile faded. “Not without escort, lady.”

She shook her head at him vehemently. “Not you. Send me with someone else. One look at you and you’ll have everyone running for their lives.”

He should have agreed with her. The less bothered he was with her, the better. But eight days of attempting to separate himself from her and the conflicts she created within him had been destroyed by two minutes in her presence. She made him smile.  She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she thought of him. She made him feel as no one had ever made him feel. Never being one to show emotion, he had no idea how to control them once they surfaced.  Ajax de Velt always took what he wanted. That did not change.

Reaching out, he grasped her around the head and kissed her so hard that Kellington nearly fainted with the force of it.  At first she tried to pull away. But it only took a few seconds for her to feel his heat, the soft strength of his lips, and surrender completely. It was the third time he had kissed her so she should have known what to expect; complete, utter dominance. What she gave him was complete, utter submission. 

In little time, she was limp in his arms as his mouth worked her lips furiously. His tongue, a wicked heated thing, invaded her sweet mouth and licked her senseless.  He was so enormous that being held by him was the most overwhelming sensation she could imagine; she should very well have been terrified. Ajax de Velt was a man of terror and death.  But he also had the sweetest kiss she could have possibly experienced.  With all of the force and lust behind it, there was something innately passionate and inviting about his touch.   The man could easily crush her, but all she could feel was tender power.  It was a heady and bizarre combination.

This time when he released her, he did not abruptly let her go as he had in the past.  He continued to hold her in his consuming embrace, gazing at her with his dual colored eyes as if attempting to figure out why he had suddenly kissed her.

“I will indeed escort you,” he whispered huskily. “And I will hear no argument from you.”

Kellington gazed back into his amazing eyes, feeling the heat but not the fear she usually associated with him.  She swallowed hard.

“I told you not to do that again.”

“Do what? Kiss you?” his arms tightened. “You’ll not give me orders, lady.”

“I told you I would not be your whore.”

“And so you are not.”

It was a definitive reply.  He had a point, but she still had to protest the liberties he was taking.  If she didn’t take a stand now, there was no telling what he would do in the future.  She was proving to be a rather compliant partner and the mere thought embarrassed her to death. She eyed him, still struggling with her composure. 

“As long as we understand one another, then,” she said softly. “And I will allow you to accompany me to town on one condition.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “More demands from you?”

“One condition, my lord.”

He pursed his lips irritably, shifted his grip, and pulled her closer.  His mouth nuzzled her cheek as he inhaled deeply of the faint rose scent. “Then state it and be done.”

She gasped as his lips fixed on her tender neck, suckling gently and sending wild sensations bolting through her body.  She could hardly think as the new sensations consumed her like a wildfire.

“Are you going to tell me?” he spoke with his lips against her jaw.

She swallowed, struggling against the feelings that were very quickly overwhelming her.  But with her last threads of control, she formulated a reply.

“I would ask that you not maim, burn, or kill anyone in order to gain their compliance,” she said breathlessly.

He didn’t immediately respond.  Summoning her wits, Kellington put a hand over his mouth to stop his onslaught, forcing him to look her in the eye.   Their gazes met and she lifted her eyebrows to emphasize her point.

“Agreed?” she said. “Give me your promise that you will not terrorize the peasants in order to gain their agreement.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “As you wish,” he said through her fingers.

She removed her hand, gazing into a face that was becoming increasingly handsome to her.  She knew the man was a killer.  But he had never known anything else.  She was coming to sense that, beneath the terror, there was more to him than met the eye.  She should not have warmed to him.  She should not have accepted him in any way. But she had been right when she had told him she felt sorry for him; Ajax de Velt had never known anything but death and destruction. Murder and blood were the norm for him.  She wondered if he would ever be able to learn anything else.

“I am serious, my lord,” she whispered.

He was watching her lips as she spoke. “I told you that I would agree to your condition. What more do you want?”

“I want you to swear it.”

“Then I swear it.”

“Good,” she began to realize he had no intention of letting her go and she put her hands between them, pushing against his chest. “Release me. I must see to your visitors.”

He didn’t let her go just yet.  His eyes raked her more boldly than they ever had, lingering on her slender neck and the ripe swell of her bosom. “Since you only address me as ‘my lord’ when you wish something, I will allow you to call me Jax when we are in private.”

She stopped pushing, looking at him with astonishment. “Jax?”

“That is my name.”

So he was permitting her to address him informally. Somehow their relationship was clouding the line between captive and captor, and it puzzled her greatly. Her face screwed into a confused expression.

“Why would you…?” she began, then thought better of her question. “I am your prisoner, my lord. We do not know each other socially and we are certainly not courting. Why would you have me address you with such familiarity?”

He lifted an eyebrow and suddenly released her. The warm expression on his face was vanished. “Because I wish it. You need no other reason.”

Her cheeks flushed with irritation and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. “I have never heard of a prisoner addressing her captor with such informality.”

“Yet you have already admitted you know nothing of warfare,” he countered. “I make my own rules, Kelli. ‘Tis best if you simply obey them.”

It was the second time he had called her by her nickname. This time, she caught it. “Who told you to call me Kelli?”